n of shame and pride.

MUZTAR.

XXXV.

The fire of love I for my idol know
Within my bosom hides,
As in the mountain 'neath its crust of snow
The flame abides.

Long have I yearned in vain to kiss her feet,
I lay my weary head
Down in the dust, that thus my lips may greet
Where she may tread.

No wealth have I, but like the moth I live:
Since love demands a price,
I, like the moth, have but my life to give
In sacrifice.

How has my bird-like soul been stricken low,
Pierced to the very heart!
My love has used instead of bolt and bow
A deadlier dart.

NASIKH.

XXXVI.

The wound upon my heart glows bright and clear
With such a steady and unwavering light
That in the darkness I shall have no fear
And need no lamp to guide my steps aright.

When of the darkness of the grave I hear,
The night of death, and all the pangs thereof,
I reck not, for one thing alone I fear--
The night of separation from my Love.

NASIKH.

XXXVII.

Shall I or shall I not console my heart
And win relief?
Or shall I sit in solitude apart
Nursing my grief?

O hear, while of my life now nearly done
Some sparks remain!
Soon I may be, who knows, O Cruel One,
Speechless with pain.

How can I to the fisher speak my thought?
Her snares are set,
My fish-like heart is by her lashes caught,
As in a net.

Look on my sorrowful mien, O Love, and tell
My hopelessness,
None of the manifold troubles that befell
Can I express.

Fair is the garden, Sauda, to thy view,
More fair appears
Her dwelling; let me all its ways bedew
With happy tears.

SAUDA.

XXXVIII.

I am no singer rapt in ecstasy,
Nor yet a sighing listener am I,
I am the nightingale that used to sing
In joy, but now am mute, remembering.

I know the drop within the ocean hides,
But know not in what place my soul abides:
I cannot read the hidden mystery--
Whence came I, whither go I, what am I.

My friends have paid due reverence at my grave,
And held my dust as sacred, for I gave
My humble life to the Beloved's sword,
Killed by her beauty, martyred by her word.

I deemed life was tranquillity and rest,
I find it but a never-ending quest;
And I, who sat in quietude and peace,
Toil on a journey that shall never cease.

SHAMSHAD.

XXXIX.

Repent not, for repentance is in vain,
And what is done is done;
What shouldst thou